Caught in a Trap

by Trevor Burton

  Back full circle, and the compass seemed to be pointing west to Liverpool. I couldn’t just say to Bill Lambert that I thought Elvis was in Liverpool; I had to be able to answer the why factor. I gave up and went to make tea, grabbing a biscuit on the way. I found myself pacing the office floor, following the already worn route on the old carpet that was down when we moved in, wondering how many others had done the same over the years. I peered out of the window as a goods train slowly made its weary way over the Stockport railway viaduct. Calmer but not wiser, I sat down, finished my ginger nut and tea and began again.

  That old history lesson haunted me. I knew there was something about a canal and the sea, but was it the Manchester ship canal? I looked again at the canal route from Liverpool: first the ship canal and then the Trent and Mersey, and then… BINGO! My eyes alighted upon it: the village of Preston Brook. The history lesson slowly came back. When the canals were in their hey-day, the fastest way from Liverpool to London was by stagecoach to Preston Brook, then by narrowboat on the Trent and Mersey canal, and then small canals to the centre of Birmingham, where a transfer would be made for onward travel down to London. Could this be the clue I was looking for? I noticed something else stirring further memories. The Trent and Mersey canal keeps on going further east to Shardlow, in Derbyshire, where it finally ends. In its day, Shardlow was a large inland port with access via the river Humber to the North Sea. I felt the quest had narrowed down to Liverpool or Birmingham/London or Shardlow. A little more effort and I might have found something. It was only 10.30am. If I could reach a kind of conclusion in the next couple of hours, I could call Bill Lambert at lunch time and still be on time with my promise.

  The key must be the diamonds and jewellery. I knew Hatton Garden was noted as London’s jewellery quarter and centre of the UK diamond trade. Was it feasible he would travel all the way to London? I pondered on this, finally concluding the answer was no, but then again to start with it didn’t seem feasible he would travel very far anywhere by narrowboat. I decided to google all the places I had written down earlier and see what came up, other than Hatton Garden.

  The wealth of data was surprising and confusing, but some salient facts emerged. Birmingham has had a jewellery quarter for hundreds of years. Liverpool… not much going there except that with today’s modern transport links you can get to Birmingham by train in two hours and seven minutes. The Birmingham Jewellery Quarter is Europe's largest concentration of businesses involved in the jewellery trade, which produces 40% of all the jewellery made in the UK.

  During Shardlow’s heyday from the 1770s to the 1840s, it became referred to as Rural Rotterdam (read: diamonds) and Little Liverpool. These were quirky facts with some connections, but only served to confuse me further. More refreshment was needed. The one thing I was convinced about was that Elvis must be the fence for the gems and jewellery spoils of Matt. Where he was going I wasn’t yet sure. Was it enough to call Bill Lambert with? I was not confident.

  The phone rang and I picked up, glad to have something to bring me out of my self-induced stupor. It was Rebecca. It had been nearly a week since I visited her house. I was extremely keen to see her again. I apologised for not ringing her and we agreed to meet up that night.

  ‘My fault,’ I said. ‘I’ll book a table somewhere, and pick you up at seven.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ she purred. ‘See you later.’

  I put down my work and gave up for the day. Bill could wait a little longer.

  ***

  The officers at Greater Manchester Police Headquarters were not in any way expecting information about Brian Hampson. The interrogation of Lenny Mack was revealing details of an organised crime syndicate with far reaching tentacles, spreading over several areas of criminal activity, including drugs, prostitution, and stolen goods, mostly diamonds and jewellery.

  In Inspector Bill Lambert’s office sat Maurice Evans and Sammy Wang, his most trusted officers.

  ‘Blimey, boss,’ Evans said. ‘The only thing that has not been mentioned so far is people trafficking.’

  ‘They could even be into internet hacking,’ Sammy suggested.

  ‘Let’s not get carried away,’ Lambert wagged a finger. ‘We’ve no indication of that so far.’

  Evans looked down at his notes. ‘Lenny Mack has pointed the finger at a hell of a lot of people, not all of them connected with what we started with. Matt the scumbag drummer is looking real dodgy. Shall we bring him in first?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lambert nodded. ‘If you know where he is, does he live in Manchester, or is he in a hotel somewhere?’

  ‘It’s Saturday, so maybe he’s in a hotel after a gig last night, perhaps entertaining his friend Lady Jane… Oh! And didn’t we hear she has a pad somewhere in the city centre?’

  ‘Wherever he is, you two find him and bring him in pronto,’ Lambert ordered impatiently. ‘I’m beginning to think that the drugs and the jewellery are somehow connected… two birds with one stone, eh!’

  The two officers rose and left the room, leaving the senior policeman to his thoughts. He now had two teams on the go: one headed up by Evans and Wang, focusing on the murder of Jake Bosson, and another on the additional information emanating from Lenny Mack. His thoughts went back to the murder enquiry, the narrowboat and Elvis. The Gent had promised to have a report by the end of the week. He made the call to his mobile.

  ‘Hello,’ a muffled voice answered.

  ‘Is that you?’ he asked. ‘Are you in a dungeon?’

  ‘No, I’m mucking out the barn. The signal’s not too good in here. Give me ten minutes and I will call you back on my landline. I’ve had enough hard labour for today.’

  ‘OK, quick as you can.’

  I filled up the wheelbarrow and put the shovel and fork on the top and took the waste straw to the outside pile behind the barn. It would be added to the muck-spreading pile later, not a job I would enjoy. I discarded my boots in the corner of the boot room, and shrugged off the old boiler suit. I washed my hands and pulled on a pair of track-suit bottoms before settling down with a mug of tea, all the while working on my story for Bill Lambert. I made the call and was transferred without delay.

  ‘Ten minutes on the dot,’ he quipped, what have you got for me?’

  ‘Well it’s not totally finalised yet,’ I apologise.

  ‘No matter,’ he says. ‘It might add to what information I’ve been getting out of Lenny Mack over the last few days, he’s coming over all remorseful, pointing the finger at all and sundry he is, I’ve had to split the work between two teams,’ he explains, and then summarises the events since we last spoke, adding his own view about a possible connection between drugs and jewellery.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ I agreed, and I’m sure Elvis is the fence for the jewellery, and my thoughts are crystallising as to where he’s going, if he’s not already there.

  ‘Are you going to share those thoughts with me?’

  ‘I could do with a few more hours of research, if you can wait until Monday, and I’ll work on it over the weekend.’

  ‘Ok,’ but we need to meet up and sort out a strategy,

  ‘Yes indeed,’ I agree, ‘I’m happy with that, but I could do with a favour first.’

  ‘Oh, and what is it?’ he asks doubtfully.

  ‘I thought we could do with some help with the search for Elvis and the boat, so I had a chat with the head office of the Canal and Rivers Trust, explained I was trying to find a person and a boat, without actually saying I was working for you and therefore GMP. They gave me short shrift, and intimated I could be reported to the local police. I of course backed off sharpish.’

  ‘Well we did contact the Canal and Rivers Trust, but when they explained that they work mainly with volunteers and could we be more explicit as to location, we didn’t push it.’

  ‘Ok I think I’m happy to at least narrow down the area of search and maybe be more specific when we meet.’

  ‘Right, and what’s the area then?’


  ‘I think it’s either Birmingham or Shardlow.’

  ‘Shardlow,’ he exclaims, ‘where the hell is that?’

  ‘It’s South of Derby, and in its day, was a very important hub for the canal network.’

  I explained in more detail before Bill agreed to speak to the Canal and River Trust head office and advise them I may be in contact, and we ended the call.

  I spent an hour on internet research before quitting for the day, I would do more tomorrow, Sunday. Right then, my thoughts were on the evening with Rebecca. I’d promised to take her out for dinner. Being selfish, I was also hoping for an invite back to her place afterwards, so didn’t want somewhere too far away. I chose a small wine bar and restaurant in Tarporley, and booked a table for two at seven thirty. The meal was excellent and we were back at Rebecca’s cottage by nine forty-five.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap,’ she asked

  ‘Delighted.’

  I followed her into the lounge and she gestured to the sofa. I sat and watched as she switched on music. ‘New Orleans jazz/blues again, I hope you don’t mind.’

  I shook my head, I didn’t care. She went into the kitchen and returned with two brandies. She hadn’t asked and again I didn’t care. She was aware that I was a private investigator, but had not probed in detail and I for reasons of client confidentiality had not offered more general information, which had seemed to suffice at the time.

  She asked, with a straight face, ‘You were intimating earlier that one of your current projects is tracing the whereabouts of an Elvis impersonator who has disappeared along with his narrowboat.’

  Laughing, I said,’ Bizarre as it might seem, that is absolutely true. There has been a murder and the police want to interview him, but I can’t say any more.’

  ‘Ooh! Best not go there then.’

  ‘No, it is a coincidence, though, that you back onto a canal and have a knowledge of canal boats, and can use a windlass.’

  ‘Yes, on both counts.

  We had moved closer when I heard the click of the cat flap. In strutted Harry, the large black cat. He gave me the stare and promptly leaped up onto Rebecca’s lap and settled himself down. Rebecca immediately stood and the startled cat leapt off and made for the cat flap. She grabbed my hand and guided me off upstairs. I wasn’t quite as startled as the cat.

  ‘He can stay out of my room tonight,’ she whispered,’ closing the bedroom door.

  I woke in the morning to a smiling Rebecca leaning over me.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Absolutely would,’ I replied as the cat bound through the open door and onto the end of the bed, scowling at me in the process as he regained his territory.

  Chapter 23

  Evans and Wang were sitting in a vacant interview room and planning a strategy to find Matt Neville. It transpired that they had an address from the original interview taken after the corpse of Jake Bosson had been found on the narrowboat owned by Brian Hampson. This address, however, was in Edinburgh, Scotland.

  ‘What else do we know?’ Evans asked.

  Wang looked blank for a moment. ‘If the band played in Manchester last night and/or they are playing tonight, we could find Matt that way, by getting in touch with the manager, Julian Hampson.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Evans agreed. ‘Or what about Matt’s lover, Jane, or whatever her name is?’

  ‘Nolan, the errant wife of Malcom Nolan,’ said Wang. ‘Do we have any details on her, though?’

  ‘Ah!’ Evans exclaimed. ‘You try and contact Julian Hampson and I’ll check the file reports for interview statements, addresses, etc. We can meet up here in half an hour.’

  They both set off on their quests. Both came up trumps. Wang had called Julian Hampson, who answered his mobile immediately and confirmed that the band were booked in a city centre hotel that evening. He was, unfortunately, unable to answer precisely where Matt Neville was at that moment in time. Evans, however, did discover something that could prove to be useful: the file read that Jane had started to answer the question of her address as Wilmslow, but had corrected it to an apartment in the centre of Manchester. She had also stated that she was temporarily estranged from her husband Malcolm. No reason was noted in the file.

  ‘What’s the next move then?’ Wang asked Evans.

  ‘Right, well, we know she’s unlikely to be at her old address in Wilmslow. Matt could have checked in at tonight’s hotel, or alternatively, she could be entertaining him at her downtown apartment.’

  ‘Hadn’t we better get around there now, then?’

  ‘I think we need to check it out with Inspector Lambert first. Let’s go.’

  The duo took the stairs to the next floor. They found their senior in, but noted through the glazed top half of the office door that he appeared to be in conference with a middle-aged woman.

  ‘No one I know,’ Wang observed, looking at Evans.

  ‘Me neither,’ Evans confirmed, turning around to enquire of a secretary if the situation was likely to be long. The secretary advised ten minutes.

  ‘We’d best wait,’ Evans said, plonking himself down on one of the moulded plastic chairs placed for this purpose.

  Wang followed and within seconds was nodding. Once Evans noticed, he tapped Wang on the shoulder, jolting him awake.

  ‘What?’ Sammy exclaimed, shaking the tiredness away.

  ‘You fell asleep, on the job. You’d be fired if the boss noticed. What’s up with you?’

  ‘Just knackered.’

  ‘Humph,’ Evans said unsympathetically.

  It was only eight minutes’ wait before the door to Lambert’s office opened, the lady left and they were called in.

  ‘What have you got?’ Lambert barked.

  They settled into equally uncomfortable plastic chairs, before Evans explained. ‘We didn’t want to go around on the off-chance without authority,’ he finished.

  ‘Ahem, yes, I see. We don’t want any unpleasant accusations, do we?’

  ‘Is there a mobile number noted in the file?’ asked Wang.

  ‘Yes, there is,’ Evans confirmed.

  ‘Give her a call, then,’ interjected Lambert. ‘Invite yourselves around… no, on second thoughts, wait until you’re outside and then make the call. If Matt is there and tries to do a runner, you can nab him as he leaves. He’s the one we really want to have a little chat with.’

  Evans and Wang immediately vacated their seats and hurried off. Evans’s Vauxhall Insignia was in for a service, so there was only one vehicle in the car pool: a scruffy old grey Ford Mondeo with 110,000 miles on the clock.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Evans exclaimed, tossing the keys to Wang. ‘Looks like a death trap! See those bumps and scratches on the off-side? You don’t mind driving, do you?’

  ‘Thanks a bunch. At least nobody will take it as police car,’ Wang muttered, opening the driver’s door.

  Evans laughed as they haired off along Northampton Road to Oldham Road, turning right to join crawling traffic heading south into downtown Manchester.

  ‘What’s the address?’ Wang asked.

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Evans, scrambling in his pocket for the notes he’d made earlier from the file. ‘Here it is. Right in the centre. Has this thing got satnav?’

  ‘’Course it has,’ Wang replied, pressing the button. ‘Stick in the postcode.’

  ‘OK, best bet is take a left onto Great Ancoats Street and then pick up the A57M, Mancunian Way, west. We can follow the instructions from there.’

  Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting outside, taking stock and checking if there were any ways out other than the main entrance and the underground car park.

  ‘I checked out the building on the internet,’ said Evans, ‘and there is a twenty-four-hour concierge. So, if we don’t get lucky we can have a chat with him.’

  Evans made the call, and a female voice answered. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mrs Nolan? Jane Nolan?’ Evans asked.

  ‘Yes, who’s
that?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Evans, Greater Manchester Police.’

  ‘Oh! And why are you calling me?

  ‘We understand you’re a friend of Matt Neville.’

  ‘I suppose you could say that,’ Jane answered. ‘Has he done anything wrong?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that, but we do need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘No, I have no idea. I haven’t seen him for over a week. I think the band he’s in are playing somewhere tonight, so perhaps you could catch him there.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where they are playing tonight, would you though.’ Evans pressed.

  ‘No, sorry, I’m afraid I don’t. But I’m sure the band’s manager, Julian Hampson, could tell you. Do you have his telephone number?’

  ‘Yes, we do, and we’ll give him a call, but in the meantime, we need to have a word with you. We will be there in a few minutes.’

  ‘Oh! OK,’ she answered. ‘Just give me fifteen minutes to shower and change. I’m going out with my sister later.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Nolan. We’ll see you shortly.’

  ‘That seemed to go well,’ Wang commented after Evans finished the call.

  ‘Yes, but if he’s in there, she’ll tell him and he’ll bolt like a greyhound out of the traps.’

  ‘Be better if we could catch him here, rather than at the gig,’ Wang observed.

  ‘Problem is, if he’s not in there, she’ll be able to warn him and he might skip the gig.’

  ‘Yeah, never thought of that,’ Wang agreed.

  Five minutes later, and there was still no sign of Matt.

  ‘Shit!’ Evans exclaimed. ‘I think we’ve been had. Keep watch here. I’m going to have a quick look in that garage.’ Two minutes later he was back and fuming. ‘How dumb could we be? Like a lot of these places it goes right through to the next street, which is one way same as this, only in the other direction.’